


my heart flew from its cage and it bled upon my sleeve

by justalittlegreen



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Begging, Blindfolds, Bottom Richie Tozier, Cock Warming, Cock Worship, D/s, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Gay Richie Tozier, Healthy Communication, M/M, Praise Kink, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Soft Richie Tozier, Top Eddie Kaspbrak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:28:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25344691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justalittlegreen/pseuds/justalittlegreen
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 19
Kudos: 107





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Predicament Bondage](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23509870) by [dgalerab](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dgalerab/pseuds/dgalerab). 



Usually it's Eddie who can fit half a paragraph in the time it takes most people to say hello, but Richie has an impressive ranting capacity when he's riled up. Eddie counts the number of times Richie pauses to breathe as he recounts the mounting list of things that pissed him off today. By the time he inhales, his face is almost purple.

"And to top it ALL OFF," Richie fumes, "Flint STILL doesn't have clean water."

"Amazing how that's on par with a bad traffic jam, forgetting your wallet, and dealing with Twitter's finest," Eddie says dryly.

Richie replies by throwing a couch pillow at his head. Eddie doesn't need to duck; it misses him by a foot.

"Hashtag first world problems," Richie mutters. "You don't have to rub it the fuck in."

Eddie takes his apron off and heads to the couch. He plants his hands on the arm of the couch, bending over to kiss Richie's head. 

"Out with it."

Richie squirms and tries to bury his face in the cushions. 

"Oh," Eddie says, the discovery dawning on him. "You're not actually mad, are you."

"Fuck you," Richie says with his face full of couch.

Eddie puts a hand on top of Richie's head and strokes the edge of his ear with his thumb. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you came in here looking to be shut up and decided to ramble at me until I figured it out."

"Good thing you know better," Richie says in a tone that says, "Gosh Eddie, you couldn't possibly be more right in this moment."

"What do you need?" Eddie murmurs. "Can you tell me?"

Richie pauses in a way that betrays how badly he's hurting. "I don't know," he says miserably.

"Are you sure?" Eddie asks. "Because you sound like you do know what you need, and you're just afraid of being rejected."

"Fuck you," says Richie.

"You're welcome," Eddie says. "I need you to be clearer about what you need, Rich. We talked about this. The guessing games aren't going to fly anymore."

Richie closes his eyes and breathes. "Could you, like, I don't know, pull my hair or something and stop being so NICE?"

Immediately, Eddie wraps his fingers into a fist at the base of Richie's hair and tugs, holding him in place with his other hand. Richie lets out the kind of moan most people give when their massuse hits a good spot.

"That was EXCELLENT," Eddie murmurs. "You were so clear. You told me exactly what you needed. And now you're going to tell me more."

"This is good," Richie whispers. "This is good for now."

"Yeah? Your head settling down?"

Richie tries to nod, but doesn't get far. "It's just - " he trails off like he doesn't have the strength to finish the sentence.

Eddie flicks the tender spot on his neck, the place he likes to be bitten. Richie winces. 

"Okay, jesus! My head's doing the thing."

Eddie waits.

"You know, the fucked-up thing."

Eddie waits. Richie blows air through his lips, exasperated. 

"Okay, okay, fine, my brain won't fucking shut up about what a fuckup I am."

Eddie rewards him by digging his thumb and forefinger into the spots where his neck meets his shoulders, massaging the soreness. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart," he says. "How can I help?"

He knows the answer; it hardly ever changes. But they'd been working for weeks on getting Richie to do this, to say things aloud, to stop relying on Eddie's intimate knowledge and intuition as a shortcut.

"I want to be good enough for something," Richie says, almost too quietly to be heard.

Eddie's heart swells with something like gratitude. He bends down, letting his hands run down Richie's chest, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck. "You are so VERY good enough," he says. "And I know you can show me how good you can be. Is that what you need?"

Richie nods. Then, knowing Eddie's waiting for it, manages a, "Yeah."

"Good," Eddie says, his voice lower, firmer. "Let me turn the stove off while you drink a glass of water. Then you're going to go sit on the stepstool in the corner of the kitchen. Understood?"

Richie nods again. Eddie stands up and makes for the kitchen, putting things in the fridge and pausing dinner prep while Richie chugs a glass of water. He makes his way to the foot-high stool that Eddie uses when he's not around to reach things and folds himself onto it, resting his chin on his knees. The effect melts Eddie a little. He wipes his hands on a dish towel and goes over to Richie, working his hand into his hair again.

"Come on," he says, and Richie stoops to walk as Eddie leads him out by the hair. 

Eddie lets go as they enter the bedroom, pointing to the floor without looking back at Richie. Richie gets the message, sitting down, hugging his knees. Eddie takes a moment to look in the closet; Richie can't see what he's looking at.

"Okay," Eddie says, coming away with a bandanna. "Give me your glasses."

Richie shoots him a pained look that he pretends not to see. It takes him a second, but he hands them over. 

"Good," Eddie says immediately. He folds the bandanna against his thigh and comes around Richie's back, pulling it snugly over his eyes. "Do you need to be my good boy today?"

Richie's voice cracks. "I think so."

"Mmm, that's not a clear answer," Eddie warns.

"Yes," Richie whispers. "I do, okay?"

"Of course it's okay," Eddie murmurs, rubbing his hands up and down Richie's arms. "I like it when you're my good boy."

He keeps petting him until Richie relaxes enough to sit crosslegged instead of curled up in a ball, and then nudges his shoulder. 

"Okay. Get up in a plank."

"A what?!" 

Eddie reaches for the soft of Richie's belly and grabs a pinchful between his thumb and forefinger. "You understand the directions?" he asks. He hasn't asked Richie to do this before, so he'll give him a one-hesitation grace period.

Richie moves onto his hands and knees and maneuvers himself into a push-up. 

"Good," Eddie purrs. "Good boy. Get your hips down. Drop your shoulders." He circles Richie, prodding and correcting him into position until Richie starts to tremble.

Eddie gets to his knees in front of him, knowing he can't see him, but can sense the closeness. "You're doing so well for me," he says softly. "I know it's hard, but you're holding up. Such a good boy for me."

And with that, Richie collapses. Eddie snaps his fingers, sharply, and Richie responds by immediately trying to get up again. "Yes," Eddie croons. "That's right. That's so good. Keep trying. You can do it. So good for me, yes, that's it."

This time, Richie makes it another ten seconds before he falls again. Eddie doesn't even have to cue him before he's trying to muscle back up, sweating, face red with frustration. This time, he falls as soon as he gets back into position. Eddie says nothing. He tries again, and collapses again, and this time, Eddie lays a hand on his back. 

"Enough," he says. "You did enough. You did so good."

Richie bursts into tears behind the blindfold.

Eddie checks his watch - three and a half minutes. That's got to be record timing for full-on catharsis. He slides his hands under Richie's armpits and hauls him onto his back, then slides him until his head's in Eddie's lap. He undoes the bandana and hands it to Richie to wipe his nose.

"That was PERFECT," he says, petting Richie's head as he shakes. "You did exactly what I wanted. You were absolutely perfect."

"But I couldn't - " Richie's voice breaks again. "I don't even know why I fucking care, but I couldn't even hold a fucking plank right."

"That wasn't the exercise," Eddie says. "Think about it, sweetheart. What was I really trying to get you to do? If I wanted perfect pushups, that wasn't the way I'd have gone about it."

Richie takes a moment to catch his breath and blow his nose. His eyes are still closed. "You wanted me to keep trying."

"That's right." He sees the praise settle over Richie like a warm glow. "You're so smart, sweetheart." He pushes a little further. "You're always so good for me."

The flicker of argument crosses Richie's face as he hits his limit for praise. "Uh-uh," Eddie says. "That's the rules. You have to take what I tell you."

"It's hard," Richie says softly, and the moment is so utterly genuine that Eddie's caught off guard.

"I know," he answers. "But you're doing it anyway. And I have another job for you."

"Mmm?"

"It involves my dick in your mouth."

Richie licks his lips and opens his mouth, nearly panting. Eddie chuckles. "I'll take that as a yes."

Richie rolls over and scrambles for his waistband. Eddie catches his hands. "I'll handle this," he says firmly. "You strip down and get up on the bed."

Once Richie is naked and curled up on his side at the edge of the bed, Eddie unbuckles and unzips his fly. He's not hard, not yet, but Richie still looks at his cock like he's thirsty for it. 

"Go on," Eddie says, standing next to the bed, which is perfectly hip-height on him. Richie barely has to lean over to suck him into his mouth, his tongue tracing every sensitive spot he knows, his personal map of How To Get Eddie Kaspbrak Going. It almost works too well.

"Fuck," Eddie groans, trying to hold on to control of his voice. "Fuck, you do that so well. You're such a good cocksucker."

Beneath him, Richie preens. This kind of praise is easy for him, bolstered by Eddie's hardening cock in his mouth. 

"Who makes me come?" Eddie asks, smiling as Richie refuses to stop to answer, instead pointing to himself. "That's right," he answers. "Who's hot fucking mouth makes me want to come down his throat?"

Richie hums his satisfaction, and Eddie can't resist a jerk of his hips. "Who - who knows exactly how to get me off like a fucking rocket?"

Richie points to himself again, a smirk appearing in his eyes. Eddie beams at him, runs a hand through his hair, then grips it again. "That's right," he whispers. "Now, stop."

Richie makes wounded noise and tries to pull off him, but Eddie's grip on his hair makes that impossible. "I didn't say get off me," he says. "I said stop. Stop moving. Just hold still."

Richie whimpers, but does what he's told. "That's good," Eddie says. "That's so good. You can hold still for me, just like that. You can be good just like that."

Richie shivers. His jaw starts to ache, but he doesn't move a muscle. 

"You're perfect like this," Eddie continues. "A perfect, warm hole for me."

Richie's cock, already hard just from blowing him, throbs, a bead of precome slipping down the length as a blush creeps over his chest.

"This is all you need to be," Eddie tells him. "You're perfect just like this. You don't have to do a thing."

Richie's eyes well up. Eddie extends a hand down towards his cock. "Come on, help me out here." 

Richie curls up a little further, bringing his hips as close as he can to Eddie's hand. Eddie strokes his cock with the tips of his fingers.

"Now," Eddie says, "Do you think you can be good for me?"

"Mhmm," Richie moans weakly around him. 

"Do you think you can hold perfectly still and be my perfect fucking hole while I jack you off?"

Richie's eyes roll back in his head. The sound he makes would be a squeal, if his mouth weren't full.

Eddie stares down at him, wrapping his hand loosely around his cock. "Well?" he asks. "Can you do that? Can you be good for me?"


	2. Chapter 2

Eddie works to hold his hips still as he strokes Richie's cock. He can feel Richie shaking with the effort of not moving, how his tongue twitches against the underside of Eddie's cock. He moans as Eddie's hand slicks up. 

"Hush," Eddie tells him. "Holes don't talk."

Richie _bucks_ at that, and stills as quickly as he can. Eddie strokes him lazily, not consistently or firmly enough to drive him forward. He strokes Richie's hair with his other hand.

"That's it," he says softly. "Look how good you're being for me. Look what a perfect fucking hole you are."

Richie makes a strangled sound, and cuts it off when Eddie pinches the top of his ear. Drool slips down his chin and Eddie's thigh. "Good," Eddie says again. "Look how fast you're picking this up. So quiet for me. So nice and still."

Richie's eyes flit up, begging wordlessly. Eddie passes his hand over Richie's eyes. "It's okay, sweetheart," he murmurs. "You don't have to work so hard. Just hold me right here. Just like this."

He picks up speed as Richie squeezes his eyes shut and grabs at the pillow over his head. Richie shivers and trembles with the effort of holding still.

"Just take it all in," Eddie instructs, feeling his way into a patter. "Don't let it out. Take it all in. You're so good for me. Don't make a sound, good boy. Don't spoil it. Perfect. Perfect fucking boy. Stay still. Stay good. So good. Don't say a word. Don't make a sound. Be good for me. Perfect. That's it. Good boy. Good -"

Richie pants around his cock, breathing as much as he can through his nose, but he's getting close; Eddie can feel it. "So close for me, aren't you?" he says. "You're doing so well. Can you hold out for me just a little more? So good. Ten more seconds. You can do it."

Richie tries to hold his breath as Eddie counts down the seconds and the strokes. "Ten. Good boy. Nine, that's it. Eight, yes. Seven, perfect. Six, good boy. Five, good. Four, almost there. Three, just a little more. Two, good boy. One - come for me, Richie, come on, that's it." He pulls his hips back, freeing Richie's mouth as Richie comes apart in his hand, all over his chest and the comforter and Eddie's leg. Eddie wrings him out, and only once he's hit the oversensitive point does Richie finally let out a small whimper, rolling away from Eddie's hand. 

Eddie climbs in beside him and grabs the spare blanket from the foot of the bed, pulling it over Richie and cocooning him. "That was _amazing_ ," he whispers. "I didn't know if you'd be able to do it. You were so _good_ , Rich."

Richie wriggles happily against him, a little wag of acknowledgment. 

"Say it," Eddie says, smiling into his ear. "Say it back to me. You can do it."

Richie clears his throat. "I was good," he rasps.

Eddie reaches for his hair and tugs. "You can do better than that."

Richie shudders. "I was a good boy," he says, barely hiding a squeak.

"Whose good boy?"

He feels Richie relax, like his bones are melting. "Yours," he says. 

Eddie pulls his hair one more time, but it's gentle enough that Richie yawns through it. "Your good boy," he says. 

"That's right." Eddie kisses his temple. "My good boy."

He holds him for a few minutes there, rubbing a palm over Richie's soft, furry belly. "What're you thinking about dinner?" he says, voice shifting back into domestic-partnership mode. 

"Oh," Richie says, voice still a little hoarse. "Hunger. Right. That's a thing. Are we food?"

"I was in the middle of making dinner when you got home and started begging me to shut you up," Eddie reminds him. "There's a salad in the fridge and I was thinking zoodles with marina - WHAT, RICHIE."

"Zoodle sounds like something a four year old would call his dick."

"Can we not mention four year olds and dicks in the same sentence EVER?"

"Only if you don't mention ZOODLES in the same sentence as DINNER."

"They're better for you than pasta."

"They're a conspiracy. Big Ag wants to..."

"Make sure you get enough fiber?"

"That must be it. Big Ag is invested in my shits. That's why they push zoodles."

"I'll make you a deal. You clean up in here and I'll make you some spaghetti."

"I get to slurp Spaghetti twice today? Lucky me."

"You're incorrigible."

"You're my favorite asshole."

"I'm your ONLY asshole."

"Mmm. I can't wait to eat my only asshole after ZOODLE night."

"This is getting ridiculous."

"Your mom was ridiculous last - "

"AAAAAND scene."

~fin~

**Author's Note:**

> The author delights in responding to comments. :-)


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